


Rhythm is a Dancer

by merelypassingtime



Series: Meretricious Melodies [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Crack, Dancer John, Dancing, Ficlet, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Gay Bar, I Blame Tumblr, Johnlock Roulette, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-20 03:08:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10653660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merelypassingtime/pseuds/merelypassingtime
Summary: When a case takes them to a gay bar Sherlock is mesmerized by John's dancing skills.





	Rhythm is a Dancer

The case wasn't even a five but Sherlock had been very bored and he could tell he was treading on the edges of John's patience so he had taken it. Besides, he was keeping a spreadsheet in his mind charting the seemingly disproportionate number of cases they were offered that involved gay bars in one way or another. He suspected Mycroft's involvement, he just had to prove it somehow.

Still, it was a case and when John had returned from his hateful job at the surgery Sherlock had rushed him through the shower and up to his room to change into the best outfit Sherlock could assemble from the choices in John's limited wardrobe.

Sherlock was already in his disguise for the evening, leaning against the wall in the stairway and fidgeting with his phone when John stomped back down several minutes later.“Sherlock, I can't wear this. I look ridiculous.”

Sherlock glanced up, then looked immediately back down at his phone hoping to hide the blush he felt creeping up his face. He managed a gruff, “You look fine.”

“I don't even know where you found these jeans, I haven't worn them since uni.”

“But they still fit.”

“Barely.”

Sherlock risked a glance up at that. Yes, they were on the tight side, hugging John's well shaped calves and perfectly molding to his firm bum. He looked back down quickly. “So, it is just a case. It is not like we are actually going out on the pull.” he said, trying for a disinterested tone. Privately he was thinking that those jeans would very much help John pull just about anyone.

“Well, you aren't.”

“I am not what?” he replied distractedly, his mind still trying to file away the picture of John in those jean for later recollection.

“You aren't going out on the pull, I might be.”

Sherlock effected a casual shrug, “It is a gay bar John.”

“Nothing wrong with that.”

“Ah, and here I thought your several proclamations of not being gay would mean there was something wrong with that.”

“I am not gay.”

“So you say.”

“I am bi.”

“Clearly.”

“You knew?”

“Of course I did, I am glad to see you realize it too. Now we have a case and that is more important than your refreshing lack of a sexual identity crisis.” Sherlock said briskly, while his mind was hopefully filing John's acknowledged bisexuality next to the image of his arse in tight denim. He pushed off the wall and started down the stairs trusting John to follow.

They spent the cab ride to the club in a comfortable silence, John watching the building pass and Sherlock trying to avoid making any deductions centered around the noticeable bulge under the fly of those remarkable jeans. It wasn't until they were standing on the pavement in front of the club that John asked, “So, what is the case?”

“Oh, the owner suspects that one of his bartenders is selling drugs to his clientele. He emailed me asking for help identifying the dealer quietly so he can keep the police involvement to a minimum.”

“Seems pretty straight forward.”

“Yes, I am sure it will be.”Sherlock sighed dramatically, “Distressingly so.”

“Okay, well let's get it solved. I'd like to get home and change into something I can breath in soon.”

The club was predictably dark and full, predominately with men in their late twenties and early thirties. Sherlock leaned in close to John, forced to almost yell in his ear to be heard over the awful dance music that was blasting overhead. “Okay, I need you to go over to the dance floor, wait about fifteen minutes, then create a distraction while I stand at bar and watch the staff.”

“What sort of distraction?”

“Oh, it doesn't matter, start a fist fight or something. I just need enough of the patrons to look away so I can observe if anyone uses the opportunity to slip away from the bar.”

John looked thoughtful for a moment before his expression changed to resignation. All he said was, “Right, fifteen minutes.”

Sherlock wondered about the look, but let it pass as John walked towards the dancers. He turned to the long bar that ran along the back wall. For the next few minutes he flirted with the bartenders and rebuffed several advances from other club-goers. By the appointed time he had already decided who was dealing the drugs and was just waiting for the distraction to confirm it.

It was fifteen minutes almost on the dot when the music changed from the indistinct heavy industrial noise it had been into a song Sherlock recalled vaguely from his teen years, still techno but with words and a steady beat. A moment later he heard catcalls and hooting start up from the dance floor. Silently he blessed John's reliability, especially when the woman he was watching slipped into the stock room and he was able to watch through the round window in the door as she exchanged rolled pound notes for more baggies of white powder from her coat. Case closed. 

He took out his phone and began to compose an email to the owner with the name of the culprit and advising him to have the police there before the club opened the next day to search her while he walked towards the knot of men watching something that was happening on the dance floor. When he elbowed his way through to the front of the crowd he stopped dead.

John was in the center of a cleared area dancing, his shirt half unbuttoned, he eyes closed in apparent concentration, seemingly oblivious of the people watching. 

And his dancing was absolutely terrible.

Sherlock had never realized that John had no rhythm, but watching him move his feet to the beat of the song it was impossible to miss how every bop of his head was just a bit off. It wasn't even consistently off in a rhythm of its own, it was painfully random. He had his hands clenched into loose fists and was waving them about spasmodically. He was also waggling his hips wildly in something that, while interesting to watch, could never by any stretch be called dancing.

For as long as he had known the steadfast, loyal doctor Sherlock had been slowly losing his heart to the man. Now, watching him shimmy unashamedly Sherlock felt the last bit of that heart be claimed and all his resistance crumbled before the adorably awkward little dancer's shuffling feet. Suddenly it was unacceptable that all these strangers were laughing at John's earnest and precious performance. 

Resolutely he strode into the cleared circle and right up to John, he dodged a flailing arm and pressed close to the shorter man. John's eyes flew open as Sherlock's hands came to rest on his hips, pulling him close and guiding him into sync with the rhythm of the song. John's waving arms landed reflexively on Sherlock's shoulders as he stared into the beautiful grey-blue eyes of his flatmate. Sherlock beamed at him before leaning down and murmuring into his ear, “You are the best dancer I have ever seen.”

John's disbelieving laugh turned into a moan when Sherlock bit down gently on the lope of his ear before continuing, “And I would love to dance all night here with you, but right now I'd much rather take you home, help you out of these amazing jeans, and see if what they say about great dancers being the best lovers is true.”

John smothered his next moan again the long column of Sherlock's neck. When he had regained the power of speech John answered, his voice husky with desire, “Oh, no. I think you'll find doctors make the best lovers. We know all about anatomy after all.”

Sherlock shuddered, “Well, by all means let's experiment.” He turned on his heel, grabbing John's hand and pulling him toward the club's exit.

Cheers and shouts of encouragement from the whole club followed them out into the night.

**Author's Note:**

> I dedicate this fic to my wonderful and loving husband who, bless his heart, cannot dance at all. I based my description of John's little dance entirely on experience. I love you though, Sweetpea. ;)


End file.
